At age 7, I was guilty
when I accepted an invitation
to go into the apartment of a neighbor
He smelled of beer as he groped me.

At age 10, I was guilty
when I walked home too late
because I missed the train
He popped out of the bushes
exposing himself.

At age 12, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
tongue into my mouth
because I could not
get away.

At age 14, I was guilty
when my uncle forced
me to sit on his lap
while in my bathing suit
and I ran away from home.

At age 16, I was guilty
when my uncle convinced
everyone that I was a liar
and I quit school.

At age 18, I was guilty
when I gave birth to
my first child,
because I was ignorant.

At age 20, I was guilty
when I saw the cardiologist
in the reflection of a lamp
*******  and the
police laughed at my report.

At age 30, I was guilty
when my employer
trapped me in the elevator
to ***** me, because I
was his subserviant.

At age 36, I was guilty
when I earned jujitsu honors
but risked going to jail
for defending myself.

At age 70, I was guilty
when a neighbor brought
me fruit and grabbed my
breast, because I was alone.

At age 72, I am guilty
of being a ferule woman
for 50 years and for
NOT be silent!

I'm immobile
As my dentist blathers
On events and people
That don't matter.
I'd rather he just
Get IT done,
Leave rants and jokes
And silly puns
For one not in
His dental dungeon.
Today was his crowning glory,
When he'd finished needling me,
Before he filled my cavity,
He suggested
I see a cardiologist
To fill the hole
Found in my chest.

I first noticed my abnormal heartbeat
in Duluth, Minnesota.
Standing across the canal from you
separated by water
and the waves waves waves.
I still swear to this day
that it was your breath I heard
mingling with the hush of water.
The next time I notice my heart
we’re at the hospital.
You tell me to uncross my ankles
and hold out my wrist
your thumb brushing over the more delicate part of its skin
and your stethoscope cold on my throat.
It’s only a
one-two-three
four
before you’re pulling away
my pulse going with you.
I don’t care if I have to live with arrhythmia
live with the pills and the appointments
and the lack of a steady thump thump thump
in my chest.
Just the ghost of the feel
of your thumb on my pulse point
on my wrist
on my neck
curving behind my ear
and my hand on your heart
with your thump thump thump,
will keep my blood flowing.
I’m a girl with a broken heart
and I’m in love with a cardiologist.

Devised by Cosmic Boss
Sourced by parents
Aided by obstetrician
Nursed by pediatrician
Nurtured by nutritionist
Counseled by sexologist
Treated by orthopedist
Stressed by physiotherapist
Directed by dietician
Nudged by nephrologist
Nerved by neurologist    
Contained by cardiologist
Consoled by psychologist
Interspersed by dentist,
Sighted by ophthalmist
Conditioned by physiology
Terminated by mortuary
The inexorable Lifeline Express
Of hospitalized hospitality

I see the cardiologist today
My heart has been off
Instead of the normal
Thump Thump
It's been
Thththththump
I thought it was from
This new exciting us
But I feel sorrowful
maybe I missed a few pills
The ones that keep the smile on my face
But my heart
It's going erratic
It's doing it when I'm not with you
Becomes worse when I'm around you
you are bad for my health
Thththththump
There it goes again
My heart is broke
Even with you staying
I see the cardiologist today...

A bee and a cardiologist

I have patched it up with my cardiologist
I sent her one of my books and when I saw her apologised
For my behaviour, and with my new eye
I could see her clearly, but didn't say so,
I like to burrow my head in her wonderful hair.
Sleep with her in a bed of feather till my heart is cured
Told my wife I was in love with my doctor,
She called me an idiot and said fetch the car while she
Waited In the foyer as it was raining.

I wonder why I'm so angry at time it is like having a bee
Inside my head sting me to be unpleasant and shout
At people, no point seeing a psychologist when
An apiculturist might be cheaper to help me getting rid of
The bee; if so, no more honey on my tongue

In Lalitpur, a small city,
a poem in
and of itself,
near to the capital city,
Kathmandu,
in the magic
word-world of
Nepal.

Who in the world is Simrik?

Girl, 15, apologetic,
with the heart of a deer.
who unlike most
kindly requests your criticism.

Ok, here is my criticism.

Your writes are a shotgun blast.
It cannot be that fifteen years
has been granted
a simple eloquence
that writes and feeds
tastes of visions
of a spiced life
far away, but
close by.

winding roads
and the trees,
the train station,
train tracks,
jeeps for taxis.
the market at night.
a few bookstores i wanted
to enter but couldn't/didn't
benches at chowrasta,
aloo chat.
penang momo,
the "aum sweet aum" poster
they had there.
pretty girls in chowrasta.
so well-dressed.

at fifteen I could not
see so well, see so fine.
not I.

i have fallen for boys, and i have fallen for men.
i don't know if it'd still be falling if i only ever
fell for pieces of them. and as for you, you were no
exception. my eyes never knew the ridges on
your body as soft as icing on a cake, or the
veins in your arms and they've only read
your words, your tastes, in pixels, but i
fell anyway, briefly. the heart is a muscle
the size of a fist, an ***** that has nothing to
grow and fit into. you never really know where
exactly in your chest it really is or if it's the right size.
there'll be growing pains in your ventricles and
dislocation to your spine or your stomach to tell you
of that before the cardiologist, and when you find the
cure or place it back to where it was, you'll have
stories written like prescription notes.

One time, when I was fifteen,
(For I have been
fifteen
many times),
I knew that
I didn't know
how to express
the potpourri
of what
was inside
of me,
the desire was
compelling,
the skills lacking,
for I lived in amidst a
family of writers, critics, historians,
and saw the birthmark of my incapabilities
embarrassed rosy red on my face every morning.

my incapabilities.

not Simrik.
oh no.

here's blood clotting where i got bit by a leech at a
monastery, from after the day i told you we needed to drop
to being friends from lovers. deserved it, totally. you had
blisters on your knees, from the day i sent you back.

you said i still had your heart with me.
when i reach the sea in 12 days,
i'll return with the crevices on them
mended with the pieces of
toughest seashells i can find,
wrapped in a sheet of prayer flag
i tore from the monastery,
so that when you place it back
between your ribs,
you'll have prayers
and the sound of the sea
flowing in your veins.

At fifteen, I read Camus
and the sport pages.
At fifteen, I peeked  
at my neighbor's *******
dreamt blonde dreams.
what I knew
was
what I did not know.

so here is my criticism.

you remind me now, this day,
of what
I still do not know
nor can ever hope
to capture as well
as you.

The cardiologist said it was a heart attack.
So for the past three weeks since this episode,  I have gone into the outer limits of my existence.
Often pondering my mortality. I find myself lost in thought at the most inconvenient times.
What would not-being-alive be like?
My heart would quit beating. No blood flowing to my body.
One by one organs and tissue would die. My brain would stop receiving signals
from my eyes, my ears, my touch.
With no brain activity, would I still have thought?
If so, what would I think about if I was no longer receiving information from my senses?
But one day - all this will happen, sooner or later.
I am choosing the later regardless.

My dentist
Strongly recommended
A cardiologist
To fill
My cavity.

If this is what you came to do
hurry,
The sooner you break a heart the sooner it heals

Her veins have deteriorated

Narrowed and not ameliorated

With every pungent pulsating pump

Her quality of life she does expunge

To a beating that is crepuscular

And will gain no life from any stabilizer

It is bleeding desultory diaphanous crimson

Demoted by her own visceral volition

Until one day it ceases

As the walls to her capillaries deceases

Until a cardiologist by a different name

Imposes on her grotesque game

To replace these decrepit pathways

That does mellifluous passion decay

Until these capillaries are replaced

Through the bypass of an ethereal nature embraced

To heal such a slaughtered souls defeats

Until a her hearts ephemeral beats

Coalesce with the tranquil thundering

Of her shamans pulse

that dominates over her demons plundering.

i want to be a cardiologist
maybe then i'll understand
why my heart skips
when you graze my skin
and why it splinters
when i hear his name

i want to be an ophthalmologist
maybe then i'll understand
the novel in your eyes
that your lips cannot express
and the daggers in his stare
that burned me as i passed

i want to be pulmonologist
maybe then i'll understand
the way i lose my breath
when you sigh my name into my lips
and the way my lungs shuddered
when his red-rimmed eyes pierced my will

maybe if i learn medicine
ill be able to explain
why i feel the way i do
for you
or ill find a cure for
heartbreak
so i will finally be free
of him

Its funny that the first four letters of HEART, spells hear.
Because I don't think you heard mine break.

It broke into shards that were hard to piece back together.
No glue or time or cardiologist, could mend or make it whole again.

A delicate ***** that pumps life through our veins, synonymous
with love and strength, as delicate as
an orchid.

I have been to my heart doctor
she noticed I had been smoking and banged a delicate
fist on the table and her stethoscope danced over her
firm *******,  she was furious,
did not listen to my lame excuses that a cigarette  
was given to me the day before and polite as I'm
couldn't say no. She was not mollified.
What do I know perhaps she is worried by her son?
who doesn't want to be a doctor.?
The tests I had shown no avers affect, she calmed
down and I gave her a copy of my latest book:
“alternative poetry and political opinions.”
I promised to not smoke again and gave her my latest book.

Love will not save you
It won't save anyone,
Ask any cardiologist.

It is a bitter thing, love
And every feeling that traps you
In ecstasy tying you to another soul.

Never more blissful than the effort  it takes
To handle,
The gut screams, the heart fails.

The spirit laughs.

"Well what would you like to know?" I ask with a deep breath.
"Would you be interested in hearing about how beautiful his eyes are as he stares up at the night sky not knowing that no constellation could match together to become quite as beautiful as the colours in his eyes?
Would you like to hear about how the depth of his voice creates a storm in my heart which causes my body to tremble and leaves my ears satisfied and longing for more?
Would you be interested in knowing how beautifully every word rolls off of his tongue as I stare at the way he talks slowly driving myself insane as the gap between our lips is never filled?
Would you like to hear how my heart becomes a blizzard of incoherent beats that no cardiologist could even begin to comprehend when I am around him?
Tell me, what is the answer you are after? As when I speak of him my lips will not seal and my mind will not ever still as the thought of him is never the cure of my heart ache, rather than the cause."

Once upon a time I fell in love , loved so hard I had butterflies in my stomach, felt so real but it was all a fantasy. Blinding my eyes , ripping out my heart sending it to a cardiologist, couldn’t help the chest pains ,Fear was all I had in mind , the thought of you living without someone .. your going crazy ! Your going crazy ! Never knew it will get this far, sleepless nights waiting for the sun to rise my mind running miles, I asked my self what did I do wrong ?.. I gave you my all ,

The most groundbreaking moments in my life have mostly been the minute connections I have made with other mortals, the ones that made me feel small while making my heart feel like it was growing inside of my tiny chest, like my organs were running around, making way, like my rib cage disconnected, tried to move, and eventually would break, like my veins were stems of flowers, and I could see the petals growing in the pinks of cheeks and across my pale chest, I felt the stitches, long gone now, from my twenty year old scar would rip my torso open right down the center and expose the heart inside, honest.

But my heart doesn't swell the way it used to, and my rib cage fells like its sinking in on itself, like the my organs are running and squeezing themselves into dark corners to avoid being attacked by the shards of ivory.

When I look into the eyes of a girl I know I'd have been enamored by, if I had met her at an earlier time, I only see the glare in her glasses. I sigh at her misfortunes but check the clock, noticing how slowly time passes
when you're unable to understand someone
looking at their palms, the way their fingers move,
wondering why my mind is feeling so numb...
My heart feels like an empty rim, missing the face of the drum.

I have not been to the cardiologist in six years,
I'm afraid he will tell me the stickers on my skin told him my secret,
when I smile they see my skeleton,
when I sing they see my gums,
that's why I listen with my mouth closed and protect the illusion with a hum.

I have not flossed for a long time either, afraid they will find the plaque in the trash, pull it out and reveal inside this furnace is only ash.

Surrender.  
Lose. Give in.

chance it all.
throw caution
against the wall,
watch its greasy
sliding downwards,
at first resisting gravity,
and then submitting to
the power, the Overwhelming
hopefulness
of love

yes, winning is a dangerous feeling.

Sometimes you gotta go all-in,
slide those chips, slow across
the green felt poker table.

Prefer thoughtful consideration,
a preponderance of favorable yeses,
longer than the maybes and the last list
of occasional, dangerously
self defeating mmmms,
and the exciting  unknowns
needy of unlocking
places you’ve never been,
lairs of dark uncovered by
fresh first time daylight

when the smile criss crossing
the body entire, a chilled fire,
when sensibility strives to
overcome the senses,
it is a checkered flag of yellow
cards to floor fallen,
let them be

slow breathing, check your
heart rate, blood pressure,
do not give the results to
a sympathetic cardiologist,
if results are higher than
normal
because you are,
good.

you know the rest,
all in, all in,
surrender to
beat of I am
am in,
all in

and sprite~write an only true love poem
send to but one,
yourself,
signed

yours truly*

P. S.  And never forget,
that you learn best,
you learn the most
from all your failures.